


Rushing the Season

by Occula



Category: U2
Genre: Babies, Butterflies, Cute, M/M, Spring, Youth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-19 23:55:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14248578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Occula/pseuds/Occula
Summary: The Edge and Bono take a walk; Edge has butterflies in his stomach about telling Bono how he feels.





	Rushing the Season

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LJ July 28, 2009, as a belated challenge entry. The challenge was photo-based and darned if I can find the photo, but my story departed from the photo anyway, so it doesn't matter.

Edge had plenty on his mind this sunny day without the matter of Bono’s new jeans. They were a brand-new, black, tight distraction.

Then again, Edge wouldn’t have been able to keep his mind on any one subject today anyway. His stomach was all butterflies, and he kept drifting off into thought.

Tramping around looking at things and drinking beer, they eventually separated, Adam and Larry wandering off downhill toward the water, while he and Bono struck out upwards. For a while he could see Larry’s shirt from time to time, starkly white, though the newly-leafing trees, and then it was gone.

Their path meandered; the hills weren’t very steep or high, but they tended generally upward, chattering (mostly Bono) about music, until the trees opened and flat slabs of rock beckoned them to sit. The rock was warm from the sun, and Edge turned his face up, squinting pleasurably. It was one of those early spring days when the sun’s warmth belies the damp chill that still lingers in the air. It reminded Edge of the sort of day when schoolchildren prematurely shed their layers, leaving coats in a careless pile at the edge of the playground, then overheat themselves in the cold air and come down with bad colds.

The still-chilly breeze ruffled his growing hair, and he smiled at the odd feeling of gooseflesh in bright sunshine. He sensed Bono moving around, then coolness touched the back of his hand. Through sunspots, he saw that Bono had taken off his jacket and was handing him a beer, one of the four they’d brought, still hanging from the plastic rings.

“Thanks.” After Bono took one, Edge stashed the remaining pair behind a jag of rock, for shade. Edge’s butterflies, which had relaxed during their hike, stirred to life again. Bono was wearing a light, sleeveless undershirt. His hair moved a bit in another mild gust. Edge reflected that Bono’s hair was less teased and sprayed than it looked. It was so thick that the cut itself provided most of the style. Edge’s own hair … well, he only hoped it grew faster than it was falling out.

The crack-hiss of Bono opening his beer jolted Edge, and he met Bono’s eyes with a start. He cleared his throat nervously and took a big swallow from his own can, for courage.  


“Yuck, who chose this brand?”

Bono laughed at the look on Edge’s face. “Larry.” He took a gulp, too. “It was cheap.”

“Ah.”

They sat, enjoying the air, drinking the beer before it got too hot. Once in a while a bird called from somewhere hidden. Time slowed. Bono peeled off the undershirt, and Edge leaned back on his elbows next to him.

After awhile, they were ready for another beer. Bono pressed his fingers to his bare shoulder, trying to see if he was sunburned yet, while Edge twisted the remaining cans free of the rings. “Have to cut this up before I throw it away,” he said, stuffing the plastic webbing into his pocket.

“Cut it up?”

“I read something about animals getting their necks caught in the loops.”

“Oh. That’s awful.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

Settling back again, Bono sprawled closer; his elbow pressed against Edge’s hip.

“Bono?” Edge said after a few sips. Bono looked inquiring from under his fringe of hair. “I have been thinking about it. About what you said?” He contemplated the can, wriggling the pull tab. Bono was blessedly quiet. “And I … I was surprised, or, or, not surprised exactly, but, nervous about it, I guess?”

He caught Bono’s understanding nod, which wasn’t enthusiastic enough to put him off nor mild enough to make him feel silly. In fact – looking more closely – he felt that Bono _did_ understand. That Bono was at least as anxious as he himself was, waiting for what he’d say next.

Which was the sticking point – Edge had thought of what to say in many different ways, but none of them had satisfied him, and most had embarrassed him. He wriggled down so that he and Bono were shoulder to shoulder, then reached for the hand next to his and squeezed, tongue-tied.

“Edge?” Bono squeezed back, beaming.

Edge realized his butterflies were trying to change to a form of elation. He was smiling, too, and blushing. “Okay, okay, I _like_ you,” he blurted, surrendering entirely to his inner goofiness. Bono laughed, a pure, happy sound, and Edge turned toward him, laughing too, nervous and relieved. He didn’t have time to think what their first kiss would be like; it just was, a firm press, nice, solid. He didn’t have time to think about it after, either, because the second kiss was better, more lingering, and just at the end, he thought to touch Bono’s lips with the tip of his tongue, as though licking his own lips, slightly and naturally.  


“There,” Bono said, low, “I like you, too, Edge. You know.” Edge thought of laughing again, but this admission wasn’t silly, or playful, despite the phrasing of it. There was much more to it, and Edge’s butterflies all took off into the air.  


“Oh,” he said in a surprised kind of soft way, “yes.” He did know.

 


End file.
